


Stop Trying

by Catherine_Medici



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Medici/pseuds/Catherine_Medici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red and Lizzie are on the run, living it up. But Lizzie has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Red tries to help, in his usual way. Red, get a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Trying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrostyFingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyFingers/gifts).



> Fluffy Mcfluff fluff for FrostyFingers for Christmas/hiatus. I can fluff! See???!!! I can do it!!! I can!!! 
> 
> Beta'd by FilmsAreFriends ;)

* * *

 

Lizzie sat by the pool trying to feel like she belonged in a five star resort in Mexico. It came so readily to Red. He swanned through hotel lobbies like he owned the whole town. But this was all new to her. The obsequious deference, the fast living, late nights, clandestine meetings. The only place Red wasn't home was by the pool. He didn't mind getting into the rooftop hot tub with her in their penthouse apartment so it wasn't that he disliked his body or was self conscious about his scars. In fact he was very comfortable with her, lounging shirtless in a deck chair, his chest hair glinting in the bright Mexican sun.

He'd explained that the scars on his back were too distinctive though. Any law enforcement officer tasked to find them would recognise him straight away and he disliked swimming or even lounging around the pool with a shirt on. Not in this heat, he'd said.

She sighed as a lifeguard approached her. Occasionally she was bothered by flirtatious men. She always felt suspicious these days. The prettier they were, the more on guard she was.

“Hola Señorita,” came an impossibly suave voice from the sexy as hell, pouty lips of a young God. He was muscular and tanned, with a shock of black hair roguishly tousled and wind blown. He would have made her salivate in the days pre-Tom.

Now, she just adjusted her sunglasses. “No,” she said shortly. She didn't owe him anything. She wasn't here for men.

It was hard to think that someone might want her for her. She had been just a job to Tom. And she'd fallen so completely for him and had her heart torn apart so thoroughly that she wasn't sure she could ever unbend enough to allow anyone in again.

The young lifeguard looked taken aback. He stood over her foolishly as she reclined on the deck chair by the pool, trying to relax to the sounds of young people splashing and laughing in the pool and the music playing over the loudspeakers.

She frowned. Red had organised clothing for both of them wherever they went and the bathing suits that had shown up in her closet were ridiculously skimpy. She was in a polka dot bikini now which left nothing to the imagination. That, along with her blonde hair seemed to attract more than her fair share of attention.

And she didn't want it.

“Please leave,” she added, in case he was uncertain. He backed away at that, looking affronted. Who cared? No one asked him to approach her. She wasn't smiling or making any eye contact. The damn bikini wasn't an invitation, she thought in irritation.

She didn't stay much longer. It was no fun without Red. She rolled off of the deck chair and gathered her towel, walking her way to their private elevator.

She entered their suite to find Red playing solitaire on the coffee table, sitting forward on the leather couch, his eyebrows puckered together as he concentrated on his game.

She laughed. “Hard at work I see. I thought you were going to catch up on paperwork?” She teased him. This free and easy new rapport made her heart warm. She was so grateful for his presence. He didn't judge her at all for her recent decisions.

He looked up, greeting her with a smile. “Seems I was sidetracked. Oh well, a card game helps to keep the mind sharp,” he said.

She draped her towel over a chair, sauntering through to the balcony that faced the sea, all sparkling like a jewel in the afternoon sun. She stretched out on a chair, popping her sunglasses over her eyes again. She was a bit listless this afternoon. There was nothing much to do until Red made the next move on the Cabal.

She heard Red stirring behind her, coming to join her on a chair. He cleared his throat. “Lizzie,” he said, a thread of nervousness in his voice, “I'll be out this evening. I'm meeting an associate for dinner.”

She sat up straight, frowning slightly at him. “Why aren't I invited? You've always invited me. Who is it? Who are you meeting?”

And it was true. Since they'd been on the run, he'd involved her in their decisions in dealing with the Cabal and the business of getting her name cleared. He'd brought her along to every meeting, asked for her opinion on every play they'd made. So what was different now?

He gave her a pained look. “If you must know, it's Maddie Pratt. She feels guilty for how the King auction ended up. She claims she had no idea that I'd be purchased by someone who actually wanted me dead. And I'm inclined to believe her. She's willing to sell me some very valuable Intel on a Russian associate of hers that I have reason to believe is involved with the Cabal. I need this information Lizzie. And she's giving it to me for a song.”

Lizzie’s lips folded together disapprovingly. This was beyond belief. “You thought you could trust her once before and you were wrong. Are you really going to fall into the same trap again?”

He huffed a dry laugh. “I'm certain this time. And I've taken...precautions. If she's lying to me, I'll find out before she leaves this hotel. She won't want to cross me again.”

Her eyes widened. “What, she's staying here? At this hotel?” She stood quickly, her spine ramrod straight, her shoulders hunched in fury. “I can't believe you're doing this again. Putting us both at risk for a...for a piece of...aargh!” She said, making a frustrated noise through her nose and moving inside, storming into her bedroom and closing the door with a sharp click.

He didn't try to follow her. That hurt more than anything.

* * *

 

She paced her room in agitation for over an hour, her indignation growing. How dare he do this. He was making her feel...unimportant. She knew in her heart of hearts that was unfair. The man turned his entire life upside down for her and put that same life on the line for her more than once.

But she didn't feel like being fair. If she were honest, she felt like raking her nails down the smug, pretty face of Madeline Pratt.

She heard a gentle knock at her door. “What?” She spat venomously.

“I'm heading out now,” he said meekly through the door. “Don't forget to eat something Lizzie. The room service is top notch, you know.”

She said nothing, her ears were ringing, she was so mad. Room service! She'd show him room service!

She waited, hearing his footsteps fade down the hall and the muffled click of the door to their suite. Right. What precautions had he really taken? He wasn't thinking clearly when it came to Maddie. He had a soft spot for the woman and it was going to get them both in trouble.

She purposefully moved to her closet, running through the selection of cocktail dresses she'd amassed in their short time there. She pulled a shimmery, sapphire blue dress over her head and pinned her hair up, putting the large diamond studs Red had given her in her ears.

Someone needed to watch his back.

She entered the dimly lit bar to the sound of piano music and the low buzz of people enjoying themselves. She seated herself on a stool at the bar and scanned the room. There, near the back exit. He was seated with Maddie at a small table for two. He looked suave and in control in his tux, holding a glass of scotch casually in his hand, deep in animated conversation with the lovely blonde across the table from him.

She touched her own pinned up hair self consciously. He liked her blonde, she knew that instinctively, even though he refused to compliment her. Did he prefer blondes? She shook her head slightly, willing herself out of that train of thought.

She ordered a chardonnay and nursed it. She didn't intend to drink. Red was drinking enough for both of them, she thought sourly as she threw covert glances over at them. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. She heard the occasional hearty baritone of his voice as he told a story enthusiastically and her tinkly, false edged laugh. It was infuriating.

She was so caught up in her surveillance  that she didn’t notice when a tall, skinny, darkly blonde man seated himself on the stool next to her. She turned to him, startled when he cleared his throat.

“I hope I’m not interrupting but I noticed you’ve been holding onto that glass of chardonnay for some time and it looks positively warm by now. Can I buy you another glass to hold until it warms up?” He smiled impishly at her.

She felt her gut clench. He had a lovely midwestern accent that reminded her of home. He looked like a young Ryan Phillippe, down to the dimple in his cheek. A real heart throb. And she found her stomach curling and her body stiffening almost against her will. She didn't _want_ the attention. Whenever a man looked twice at her, all she could think of was Tom, faking his love for her for years. How could she trust any man’s attraction again?

“Look,” she said, “I’m just here for a drink, to kill some time. I’m not really in the mood to socialize. I’m sorry, I know that makes me sound like a bitch but I’m just being honest,” she said simply, with an elegant shrug of her shoulders.

He looked disconcerted but he still persisted. “Well, I like honesty,” he said, the smile back on his face after its earlier slip at her bluntness. “I’m Tom, what’s your name?” He said, holding his hand out hopefully.

She shook her head, turning her whole body away from him, sudden, unexpected tears stinging her eyes. Tom was a common first name, as common as having Smith for a last name. It was ridiculous for her to feel this way but it hit her like a freight train, the pain and rejection. She stiffly held herself away from him. “I want you to go,” she said tightly. “Just get away from me.”

The poor man looked confused and mortified. He’d withdrawn his hand. “I’m sorry to have intruded on your night,” he said quietly, his body language telling her that he’d most likely feel chastened for the rest of the evening. He stood up and left the way he’d come, silent and unobtrusive.

She took a huge breath, letting it out again slowly through her nose and looked up to check on her targets. She was shocked to find Red alone at the table staring right back at her, his mouth turned down at the corners and the saddest expression she’d ever seen on his face.

Her breath hitched, her eyes shied away from him and she looked down at her wine, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. Why did he look so sad? It was almost...pity on his face.

She shakily got down from her stool, taking a large gulp of her disgustingly warm wine, feeling the comforting burn down her throat as she swallowed convulsively. She didn't look at him, making her way across the floor, leaving the bar and heading back up to the suite. It had been a stupid idea, she realized that now. An idea borne of her possessiveness and need for control. She couldn’t let Red just enjoy himself with an old friend. She was miserable and alone and she wanted him to be alone too, for him to see her as the only thing that he had just as she saw him as the only thing she had.

She ran a bath, quietly washing her hair, lying stretched out in the tub until the water was lukewarm, almost cool. Stepping into her grey, satin pyjamas, she took a book from the small bookcase in the living room and retreated to her bedroom to occupy herself until Red returned.

She heard him before she saw him, in the early hours of the morning. She raised her head, blearily blinking her eyes. He was crooning a tune, stumbling a little about the suite. She heard him knock his shins into the coffee table, cursing loudly, forgetting that he’d just hit his shins and beginning to sing again.

_“I'm prayin' for rain in California,_

_So the grapes can grow and they can make more wine,_

_And I'm sittin' in a honky in Chicago,_

_With a broken heart and a woman on my miiiiind,_ ” he sang in a deep bullfrog twang.

She heard another curse as he stumbled against something, knocking something to the ground, falling with a loud cymbal like crash.

_“I matched the man behind the bar for the jukebox,_

_And the music takes me back to Tennessee,_

_When they ask who's the fool in the corner, crying,_

_I say, that little ole wine drinker meeeee.”_

She snorted. He was completely gone. She’d never seen him like this. Her amusement faded when she thought that he might be feeling quixotic because of Maddie. He obviously felt safe enough around the woman to get drunk. Maybe he had stronger feelings for Maddie than she’d supposed?

She got up from her bed, closing her book and putting it on her dresser. She hadn't really been reading it anyway. She trailed curiously down the hall to the living room, turning on the light as she arrived in the doorway.

The bright light revealed Red, bent over the coffee table, clutching it for stability. He straightened, blinking at her owlishly. “Why didn't you stay?” He inquired, his voice clear enough despite his gross motor skills suggesting he had drunk quite a bit.

She wasn't expecting the question. She folded her arms defensively. “I didn't like the guy bothering me at the bar,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow, looking, despite the smoothness of the gesture, more comical than anything. “He seemed fairly gentlemanly to me. Your tastes not run to gentlemen then?” He said, slurring slightly now.

Her lips thinned. “Go to bed Red, you’re drunk,” she said, turning to leave the room, not waiting for a reply.

“And you’re very unhappy,” he said forlornly to an empty room.

**  
**  



End file.
